


Bonfire of Vanities

by landfill_lady, oldbooksandnutella



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hotch POV, M/M, Mentions of Rape, model!Reid, season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2254536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landfill_lady/pseuds/landfill_lady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldbooksandnutella/pseuds/oldbooksandnutella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Hey, guys. If, and let me make sure I have this straight, we're about to work a serial killer case involving high-profile models in the New York City area? I may have someone who can help us out."</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Gideon sighs long-sufferingly. "All right, Morgan, I'll bite. Who is she?"</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Morgan grins, shark-like. "I wouldn't call Reid a 'she' to his face if I were you. Things tend to get nasty."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> short prologue; will be revised with time. get excited!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> STORY EDITS!! WHOOO!!!

The victims are all male, all models, all in their early twenties. Hotch doesn't know much about the business, and the only magazines he reads are Haley's copies of  _Good Housekeeping,_ but the expression on Elle and Derek's faces indicate some recognition. 

"Five victims, all male, all in the past month," he says, emptying a folder of crime scene photographs on the table. "The first victim, Alan Kovačević, was found in his apartment one month ago, naked on his kitchen floor. He was found lying facedown in a shallow pool of water, but the cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Coroner found evidence of anal intercourse prior to death.

"Our second vic, Jeremy Layden, was found faceup in his Brooklyn condo, with a small arrow wound in his chest. Same cause of death, but no evidence of rape. The arrow wound was post-mortem. Victim three, Nick Gould, was found in his house in Williamsburg with a  depressed fracture in the right side of his skull, presumably caused by the large metal disc found near his corpse, while four, Ajay Gupta, was bludgeoned severely, likely post-mortem, and left on his couch along with a vivisected rabbit. Five, Frederick Blomkvist, was found in his bathtub, along with a small harmonica."

"So far, there's been high tabloid coverage, but little in actual information," JJ says, poking in. "I'm working with local press on damage control."

Hotch nods briefly before continuing. "Three, four, and five all showed evidence of anal rape; the cause of death for all three was blunt force trauma to the front of the head. Four and five were both found in their apartments in SoHo. Any questions?"

"SoHo," Elle notes. "Our unsub's getting cocky."

"Or he's gaining access," Gideon says. "Our unsub isn't more physically powerful than his victims; he has to wait until their backs are turned to get the jump on them. The location of the murders, along with the increase in detail, makes it seem like our unsub's gaining some confidence; we may be looking at someone new to the industry, moving up in prestige."

"Mhm," Elle says in the noncommittal good-idea way she has, before glancing behind her at the uncharacteristically silent corner of the table. Morgan seems to notice her stare, and shakes himself out of some kind of funk -the first motion he's made since the start of the briefing- before finally speaking.

"Hey, Hotch. If, and let me make sure I have this straight, we're about to work a serial killer case involving high-profile models in the New York City area? I may have someone who can help us out."

Gideon sighs long-sufferingly. "All right, Morgan, I'll bite. Who is she?"

Morgan grins, shark-like. "I wouldn't call Reid a 'she' to his face if I were you. Things tend to get nasty."


	2. Chapter 2

They meet Reid in New York, in an upscale café near the (no doubt indecently expensive) apartment he calls home. Spencer Reid is a busy man, or so Hotch's been told, so this meeting will be short. Really, they're just here to determine whether or not Spencer will be of any real use to the BAU in this investigation.

Aaron sips his overpriced, organic coffee uneasily - it's been fifteen minutes now, and Reid still hasn't shown. It's only him and Morgan here; Gideon and Elle are off looking at crime scenes, JJ is briefing the press, and Penelope is back at home digging up questionably relevant information on the modeling industry. It's beginning to feel like he and Derek are the only ones not doing any real work here, until the door jingles and two unrealistically chic twenty-somethings enter the café and make a beeline straight for their table. Derek's face lights up like a Christmas tree, and Hotch sighs inwardly.

One of the newcomers is obviously Spencer Reid - Penelope pulled up some pictures for Hotch before they headed out, and he'd been forced to admit (at least to himself) that the kid is striking. He's lanky, but not in a bad way, with long, delicate limbs tucked into expensive-looking pants and a thin, brown fall coat. He pushes some of his unruly hair out of his face with one hand and turns to look at Morgan, smiling shyly.

"Derek. It's been a while." His voice is nice - slightly reedy and pleasant, but unassumingly quiet. All in all, not what Aaron would have expected out of a man who's, apparently, one of the best-paid male models under 30. 

"Spencer, man!" Morgan says in response, opening his arms widely, and Reid looks absolutely thrilled as he's reeled in for a hug.

"I missed you, Derek," he says, smiling sweetly, and Morgan ruffles his hair amicably before letting him go so they can all sit down at their tiny wooden table, already precariously laden with two agents' worth of baked goods and BAU paperwork. Reid and the woman - his manager, Hotch guesses - each pull up a chair, and Reid extends a hand expectantly over the table.

"Agent Hotchner," he says, and then, as if to explain himself, "Derek talks about you a lot. It's nice to meet you."

 "Call me Hotch," Aaron says, accepting the proffered hand. "And I wish I could say the same about you - none of us knew Derek had a supermodel friend until this morning."

"It's not something we like to advertise," Reid says, shrugging. "Paparazzi bothers Derek, and people tend to... assume things."

Aaron feels his eyebrows rise. "Are you gay, Mr. Reid?" he asks, casually, and Morgan, who knows what he's doing, side-eyes him murderously as Reid answers.

"I'm bisexual, but it's what people tend to assume, working in the industry," he says, shrugging. 

"That must bother you," Hotch says lightly.

"No, not really," Reid says, as Morgan offers him half of a cinnamon roll from his plate, which he accepts. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't profile me over breakfast, Hotch, but I understand if it's really a necessity. Now, what did you really want to ask me?"

Before Aaron can respond, Morgan interjects, "Hold up, _breakfast_? It's already after two, pretty boy."

"I know, Derek," Reid says, smiling softly as he splits his cinnamon roll slice with his manager, and Aaron notices they both have dark, blotchy patches under their eyes, which are bloodshot. How does this boy find work with such poor self-preservation? "We had a late night," Spencer finishes, by way of explanation.

Derek snorts. "'Late night' my ass. Were you up 'til five reading Proust again, or was it a shoot?"

"Party," Reid says, mouth full of pastry. "Lots of hot models, you would have liked it."

"I bet none of them were as hot as you, baby."

Aaron clears his throat loudly, and both men jump in their seats and mutter "sorry".

"Derek and I have a tendency to get distracted when we're around each other too long," Reid says apologetically, and Hotch nods in acknowledgement. "Now, what did you want to ask me, Agent Hotchner?"

Aaron clears his throat and leans forward. "You asked me not to profile you earlier, Mr. Reid."

"Spencer, please," Reid interjects, running a hand through his hair.

"All right, Spencer. How much do you know about what we do at the BAU?" 

 Reid looks embarrassed."Kind of a lot, actually. How you use psychological profiles of suspects to find and catch criminals, mostly. Derek and I complain about our jobs to each other a lot - oh don't freak out, Gabi, we both love them," he directs at the woman at his side, who looks mildly incensed, "and I think what you guys do is fascinating. I used to want to go into profiling as a teenager, before I got scouted."

"What made you change your mind?" Hotch asks, and Spencer fiddles with a button on his jacket, looking uncomfortable.

"The money, mostly," he says. "Criminal justice is fascinating, but there are things I need to worry about- medical fees in particular have always been an issue for my family, although we're not poor."

"I won't pry," Hotch says, filing the information away for later. "I have one last question, though."

"What's that?" Spencer asks.

"Where were you the night of the 23rd?"

"What?" Spencer says, looking shocked. "Excuse me, Agent Hotchner, I thought I was here as a consultant, not a suspect."

"So did I," Derek says, looking murderous.

"You're our best lead yet, Mr. Reid, and you're looking more and more likely as a suspect every second," Hotch says. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to come with us." 

 "Wait a second-" Derek says, but Spencer holds a hand out, quelling, and he crosses his arms and seethes silently rather than speaking his mind. There aren't a lot of people that can make Derek do that, Aaron knows. Spencer Reid is special, there's no doubt about that.

The man in question is currently frowning quietly, fingers tapping against his leg as he puzzles through something. Overall, he looks more like a businessman making a risk/benefit assessment than anything else, Hotch thinks. Then again, psychopaths can surprise you that way; their utter unremarkability the perfect mask for all kinds of evil. Spencer doesn't seem about to run, at least, although his manager looks about ready to vault the kitschy table and slap Hotch silly.  

"I have an alibi," Spencer says quietly, finally meeting his eyes, "if that's what you need from me. On the night Alan Kovačević was murdered, and for the others. For the first I was on a job in SoHo; Gabrielle can give you the contacts to confirm it. On the other two I was visiting Ellis Hospital in Schenectady; I'll be in their visitor records. I hope that satisfies you."

Hotch sighs internally. If Spencer is telling the truth (and he must be - he's smart enough to know that Hotch can know in a matter of minutes if he's faking an alibi) then there's no way he was personally involved with any of the killings. The killer's M.O. doesn't look like someone with an accomplice, and if Spencer isn't their unsub, then he's not involved, which means Hotch has screwed up.

"Morgan, call Garcia and get her to verify Reid's alibis," he says, and Derek nods, relieved, and heads outside the café to dial Penelope.

There is one interesting aspect to Spencer's story, however.

"Spencer," Hotch says, "if you don't mind me asking," (Spencer's answering grimace says that he does mind, but understands the question's necessity) "why were you visiting Ellis? Is there something wrong with your health?"

"No," Spencer says, voice clipped, "I was visiting my mother." The look in his eyes tells Hotch that this conversation is over. Spencer throws a twenty on the table as he rises, even though he hadn't eaten anything besides half of Morgan's pastry. 

"You can tell Derek I paid for his food," he says. "Goodbye, Agent Hotchner. I trust I'll be seeing both of you again very soon."

He doesn't give Aaron any opportunity to stop him, even if Aaron had had any real desire to. After he leaves, his manager stays seated at the table for a moment, a calculating and protective look in her eyes.

"Stay away from my client, Agent Hotchner," she says, before disappearing out into the city afternoon like one more Manhattan mirage. When Derek gets back inside, there's no trace of their presence other than a crisp twenty-dollar bill. 


End file.
